You Grew On Me Like A Tumour
by plug in baby57
Summary: Sam has an unorthadox reason for taking up smoking and Carly wants to know it. Seddie/Cam, Strong Language.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this stuff.**

"Why do you smoke?" She asks me. At times like this I also questioned the wisdom of smoking. Ill health generally gives me a wide berth. I like to imagine that I confuse it with my continued low weight. The real issue is that Spencer makes us go to the roof to smoke and in Seattle it rains, usually heavily, for most of the time. So it leads to situations like this. Me and her huddled together sucking on our cigarettes and getting fucking soaked. Well I get soaked because despite living my entire life here, I've yet to get a waterproof jacket. Still, I'd rather be up here, smoking with her than downstairs with Benson. Also, I'd rather not explain why that is.

"Why do you smoke?" I ask her. Shivering as I lift the cigarette back to my lips for another drag.

"Because you got me started." Her cigarette hangs between cherry lips, face obscured by the shadow created by her hood. An image that I think would look cool if this was a film. Not that it might happen, who the hell would write a film about two adolescent girls smoking. Although, I suppose, there might be some sort of porn version of that, some people have weird fetishes. "So," she continues, "Why do you smoke?"

"Why do you wanna know?" I deflect. In truth, I started smoking to resolve a situation in a way where I'd never have to say it aloud. So of course, I'm not going to tell anyone.

"Whatever your reason is, is by proxy, my reason. I'd like to know why I'm up here in the pouring rain with you." She looks pretty in grey. It's the overwhelming hue of Seattle right now and her pale skin does little to combat it. That's not to say she's not usually pretty, but it really comes across when we're up here sharing cigarettes in the rain. Her hair looks so dark I can't be sure it's not actually black. It's like being in one of those old black and white films except for the red lips forming half a smile and the hot end of her cigarette. It's a nice picture to look at when your ass is about to freeze off and almost leaves me wanting the sun to stay behind the clouds.

"Because you love me?" I answer, hoping she'll accept that and move on. I was stupid to ever feel that way about him and I'm not going to dignify my stupidity by telling people about it.

"No," she says. I feel a pang of disappointment and it's not all because she's rejected my silly attempt at avoiding the question. "I can do that from downstairs." The advancing fiery end of her cigarette is nearing her fingers. Every time I worry that she might burn herself. Hell knows why, she's not an idiot and it wouldn't matter all that much if she did. It's a simple procedure if you do, your fingers feel hot, you shake your hand and the cigarette butt flies away. "It's a simple question," She says, dropping the end of her cigarette in a puddle. "Why are you avoiding it so much?" Thinking it over, I plan to tell her that it's just something I don't want to talk about but my fingers feel hot. However, given my natural style I adjust the cigarette butt into position and flick it over the side of the building.

She disapproves. She always does. "That might hit someone." She says, like she does every time I flick a finished cigarette somewhere without looking, as if it could do real damage to someone.

"It wouldn't do crap from this height." I say. It's true. This building is massive, there's no chance a cigarette butt could cause pain. She still frowns at me. "It's not like I threw a brick." I shrug. She probably wants to carry on arguing, but I simply turn and walk coolly towards the door and the shelter from the rain that's beyond. She stomps her feet somewhere behind me before following. I'm about halfway down the stairs heading toward the elevator when she catches up.

"So, why do you smoke? You never said." She pants, and I realise that I must have descended the stairs quicker than I intended. As we reach the elevator I turn to face her whilst she presses the 'down' button.

"If I do can I borrow some dry clothes?" I ask. She nods at me, as we hear the elevator beginning it's ascent from the bowels of Bushwell Plaza. "I started because of a guy."

--

She and I relax on our bean bags in the iCarly studio, awaiting Freddie for the iCarly planning meeting. I want to smoke, if only so we'll remain uninterrupted but I can't because we've got to have this meeting and it still raining. I don't think she will be too happy if I get her clothes soaked.

"I can't believe you got me started on smoking because you were crushing on some guy." She says. I sink a little lower into my bean bag, now almost parallel with the floor. It wasn't a good idea, her underwear keeps riding up and any movement in this bean bag forces me to wedgie myself. I don't actually need to be wearing her underwear, mine was still pretty dry but the colour goes better with the pair of her jeans I'm wearing. I like to make sure my underwear is organised to the maximum possible advantage in case Summer Glau arrives in a sexual emergency.

"That wasn't the whole story," I tell her. "I just said enough to get your clothes." She picks something off the floor and throws it at me. It hits the wall near the elevator. She's never been particularly good at throwing. "You throw like a girl," I taunt. Before she can make a comeback Freddie walks in, carrying his aura of dorkery. His face is priceless when he looks at me. His mouth hangs open and he looks more gormless than usual.

"Well done, Freddles." I say. "A girl you've known for years wears another girl's clothes and you are completely bamboozled."

"Actually," he says, "I was going to say you look pretty hot in those clothes but no, I'm barely in the room and you're giving me crap." He turns to her. "Tell her to be civil." He whines. Always, he does this. She has it in her mind that he should be treated well and he is at least smart enough to know that I do what she says. So he forces her to mediate when he should be a man and defend himself. How could anyone like him? How could I?

She turns to me. Or at least do so as much as someone can when lounging about a foot of the floor. "Be civil." She says, half heartedly almost as if she's siding with me on this one. It's nice to be liked, but this will produce a problem. I can't just give in. That's not how I work. For him, when being a complete pansy fails, he'll fight back. He can give it out pretty good at times. If we're left to go at it, someone will get hurt. By someone, I mean him. Not to mention, certain people would read a lot of romantic subtext into two feuding teenagers. People thinking I've got a thing for him is the last thing I need.

So, her siding with me will either lead us into an escalating argument or else get his panties in a twist. Whilst usually enjoyable, we do actually need to plan a webshow right now. I have to cross the line early so that she'll react and we all remain on task, because I don't plan on looking like an ass on a completely unrehearsed webshow this Friday. I come up with a comeback quickly, because I'm witty like that.

"Baby, can you tell him to go die horribly?" I ask. This time she does react.

"Don't wish death on people." She admonishes me. It feels good, despite Freddie's smug, shit-eating grin. I can stop when she says to because she's the one person I actually like and I'm not looking to beat her in any way. It feels good because in my own way I'm helping the show and no one else actually knows this. So, she's angry at me for a few minutes but she'll be happy enough come Friday and another successful show.

--

I seriously believe I'm going to die. I'm bent double and half way to coughing up my lungs. I imagine this is what it would feel like to breathe in flaming crude oil, my throat seems to be collecting tar and my lungs are on fire. As I hack and wheeze she looks on, her own cigarette unlit between her lips. Luckily, the second drag isn't so bad. I pick up my lighter from the floor and throw it at her smirking face but she catches it.

"What happened there?" She asks. I consider myself a fairly experienced smoker, so my reaction was unexpected. She's finding great joy in my struggle with this cigarette but the tables will soon be turned because I know where these cigarettes came from.

"You'll see." I smirk back. I can only imagine what Freddie would say if he knew I was letting anyone else smoke these. I'm fairly sure that actually smoking all two hundred of them will guarantee cancer in later life. That doesn't really worry me though, cancer's practically a guarantee in later life anyway, unless something else gets you first. I'm not all that worried about what I might die of, because it's going to happen eventually anyway. Plus, smoking makes me look cool. And his health freak mother was certain to forbid him from inhaling second hand smoke. The less time I spend near him, the better.

I'm disappointed by her first drag, momentarily at least. She inhales it through her cherry lips and nothing happens for a second. Then her body realises what's just happened. She tenses up, her entire body has an involuntary reaction and then she begins to cough. The first sounds like a bark, then they transmute into a disgusting sort of retching sound. I reach over to rub her back as this happens. Deep down I am capable of sympathy but she's the only one who gets to experience it. She eventually recovers enough to look up and ask the burning question.

"What the fuck?" she asks me. It's beautiful to see and hear. She rarely swears that strongly. It's a shame really as she's capable of putting so much force behind to word 'fuck'. Just once I want her to direct it at Freddie. I've done said it so much that it's lost all meaning but if she could just once come out and say 'fuck you' to his face it would devastate him. He's not even carrying that little crush on her any more but she could crush anyone with the right words passing through those red hot lips.

"I bought them from Rip-Off Rodney." I confess. "They're literally straight off a reject pile in the factory." I didn't actually think that it was possible for a cigarette to come out this bad but thinking about it now, these companies have a product that literally kills. I'm sure they don't actually care about quality, so the ones that aren't rejected are probably only just good enough to sell.

"Why would you buy crappy cigs?" She asks as I return to my position leaning on the railing that borders the roof. It's not raining today, meaning we might have been able to enjoy the post-show cigarette. We couldn't because she had none left and mine were downright poor. It's that weird time just after the sun has set when the sky is blue but not in the usual way. It's sort of pretty but I prefer when it's grey and it feels like there's no colour at all. The colour that is there stands out more.

"Two hundred for five bucks," I answer. It was a good deal. At those prices you expect something to be wrong and if I didn't buy them we'd be going without right now. Complete crap is better than nothing. After a few drags she seems to have gotten used to them as well. She starts staring at me. I'm more than a little freaked out.

"You know what?" she says. "You look really good in this light." She confuses me to no end. It's nice to be complimented, but what the hell does she mean and who bases their compliments on the current lighting situation? I guess my facial expression is somewhere along the lines of 'What?' because she quickly says "Forget it." We hang around awkwardly for about half a minute, puffing away until she speaks again. "Who's this guy that got you smoking?" she asks.

"Not telling." I answer. My next drag seems to consist of nothing but burning paper and closer inspection reveals that half of this cigarette is completely empty. There's the filter and then a conspicuous lack of tobacco. It's easy to see why this would be rejected, it's basically half a cigarette. I throw it off the roof and start rummaging through my discarded backpack.

"What did I say about doing that?" She asks. She doesn't like but I'll be buggered if I can remember what she actually said. My bag begins exuding a stench that even I am unfamiliar with. I hope that it's not something growing in there because then I'll have to throw it away. I'm definitely not going to touch the sludge gathering at the bottom. I turn my head to escape the smell for a moment.

"That it's cool and sexy?" I say. Turning back into my bag I spot my target and fish it out quickly before the smell can get a foothold in my nostrils. A Tupperware container with one hundred and ninety eight shoddy cigarettes in it. She appears incredulous.

"They came in a lunch-" Her question is interrupted by a cough. She turns the cigarette around and I would guess found it in a similar situation to mine as she throws it to the ground and stamps it out. "That's complete crap. They're not even in a carton and they're half empty!" She exclaims.

"You should be more optimistic, think of it as half full." I say. "Anyway," I continue "Why would they be packaged, they're rejects." I pull the lid off the container and poke around until I find two fairly solid cigarettes. I turn to offer one to her and find her halfway to the door leading downstairs. "Hey," I shout "Where you off to?" She stops and turns to face me.

"If you think I'm smoking more of those, you're very much mistaken." She calls back. I don't want her to leave, I've not had enough nicotine today and it feel weird to smoke up here without her.

"You can't leave me here alone." I complain.

"Yes I can." She confirms. I don't think she would but I see her turn for the door. It's been too long since I've smoked alone. I'm not sure I could actually do it without her anymore. I have a decision to make, either ignore the craving and go downstairs or come up with something to make her stay. If I gave her the name of a certain guy she might be willing to sit around. I think about it and decide not to. Those cigarettes are shit anyway.

--

She has me watching some soppy romantic comedy. The only hope I have is that she might fall asleep on my shoulder and I can switch it over to the late night infomercials to laugh at the way the presenter's careers have turned out, selling useless shit to insomniacs. I take a perverse pleasure in seeing dreams crushed by fickle industry. It seems like a conveyor belt for taking hopeful youngsters and turning them into cynics.

I tend to go a bit weird late at night. I sometimes have dreams about eating Carly. Not in a euphemistic way either, literally cooking and eating her. I don't even kill her first, I just chop a bit off and whack it on a barbecue. That classifies as weird, right?

Sometimes she does it to me. What's really weird is that I enjoy it. I haven't the slightest idea what that means but it must be more sensible than this movie.

It comes to a scene where our protagonist, the new girl at school, sees some jock and immediately falls in love. I let out a sound that's somewhere between a snort and laugh. She looks towards me.

"What's so funny?" She asks. I'm amazed that she can take this seriously.

"That's not how love works." I explain. "You can't fall in love by looking at someone." The glowing colours from the television play out across her face like a sort of aura. She looks like a kid who's just found out Santa isn't real. Crushing her dreams isn't so much fun.

"Well," She hesitates. "What about Shane?" I search back through my mind to find out who he is. Ah, yes fell down the elevator shaft and was horrendously injured. Although for me, when talking about injuries, horrendous is a synonym for hilarious.

"That wasn't love, we basically wanted to bone him." She's looks disbelieving. "Love creeps up on you." She's still in disbelief. "You meet some random guy, spend a lot of time with him even though you hate him because your mutual friend stops you from hospitalising him and then you find he's grown on you. Like a mole that turns out to be melanoma. Then you have to kill it with chemo." I think I haven't given away any important details. I'm wrong.

"You love Freddie?" she blurts out. I cannot figure out how she figured that out. She must have bugged his fire escape or something, because I'm sure I said nothing incriminating. I have no choice but to enter deny mode.

"No, never."

"And you started smoking because you knew his mom wouldn't let him spend much time near you!" She exclaims. She's good. Far too good. I think she's made a deal with the devil for mind-reading abilities because she might have worked out the first part but the second was impossible.

"You're not psychic, are you?" I ask. I hope to god she isn't, I seriously don't want her to know that I've dreamt about serving her thighs with black bean sauce. I don't care who you are, that's a friendship killer right there.

"No, I just know how you think. You're presented with something confusing and your reaction is to fight it." I notice a major flaw in that statement, loving Freddie isn't confusing it's revolting. My first reaction isn't violence either. "Don't look at me like that." She says and I'm completely unaware that there was anything strange about my look in the first place. "The first time we studied algebra you punched your math textbook." She's right but that was totally justified. If learning was my thing I'd be the one with the scholarship to a fancy boarding school. And the textbook was being a dick. "And if I'm right," she continues, "Your love for Freddie has subconsciously merged with your love of food and you dream about cannibalising him."

"Aha!" I exclaim, victorious. "He's not the one I dream about eating." Although, thinking about it now, those dreams are even weirder. "Anyway," I continue, "it's _loved, _past tense. My chemotherapy idea worked and I feel nothing but hate for him."

"So why do you keep smoking?" She asks. There's a simple answer and I give it to her.

"It's addictive." I say. It really is you know. Of course, I'm strong enough to quit but doing this is shaving off the years of my life where I'm wrinkled, saggy and can't wipe my own ass. "Anyway," I say. "We're talking about the movie not me."

"Okay then." She winks at me. I have absolutely no idea why. "So love is a cancer?"

"Sort of. You spend a ton of time with someone and then realise just how much a little mole can grow on you." I'm struck by how good she looks with the light coming from the television. People always say we should expand our circles, make more friends, but I don't see a point as none of them would be as good as her.

"So you hate this movie because it isn't a parallel of your own love life?" She asks.

"Yeah. It's painfully obvious that the new girl would be much better off with the girl that was her friend from day one."

**--A/N--**

**This was inspired by Tim Minchin's You Grew on me (Like a Tumour). I don't feel I captured anything resembling the sentiment of the song except the painfully spelled out metaphor. I also tried to be slightly less obvious with the Cam. I don't think I managed that either. I had a fit of femslash in the last scene. No idea why I didn't use Carly and Sam's names, just thought I'd fuck with you a bit. The most annoying thing about writing this was American slang, meaning I had to write cigarette every time when I'd normally use 'fag'. That means cigarette over here, not a gay dude. The reject cigarettes is something that actually happened to my brother, who is a much bigger smoker than me. Those ones did come in a pack though. **

**So, I've had this idea for about six months but never got anything good out of it until about a month ago and once again had no idea how to finish the thing, so that was written yesterday. Can't honestly say what gave me the idea but I liked using a film to compare to Seddie/Cam conflict in this. It's not actually based on any real film though. And there's a small reference to iTwins, which is probably going to have a large effect on my other fics now. If you're interested, I was planning for the butts that Sam threw off the roof to hit a rapist in the eye and save someone's life, but it never came up.**


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